


cerebral thunder in one-way conversations

by plinys



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 12:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3529190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some nights where nothing feels real anymore.  He’ll close his eyes and the nightmares will start up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cerebral thunder in one-way conversations

**Author's Note:**

> originally written to fill a kink meme prompt, but i messed up and my fic didn't exactly fill the prompt so oops. apologies for any errors this is unbeta'd! (though if anybody wanted to beta my fics for that fandom that would be super chill, because this probably won't be the only one i write over here.)

There are some nights where nothing feels real anymore.  

He’ll close his eyes and the nightmares will start up.

The ones that assure him the past few months of blissful peace, or as close as they can get to peace with jobs like theirs, have all just been a creation of his mind.

Instead those happy memories will be replaced with the endless feeling of loss. Sometimes It’ll be like he’s reliving it all over again staring into a computer screen as his worst nightmare plays out right before his eyes for the hundredth time.

Other times it’ll be different, he’ll be there outside that church trying to stop the bleeding while he watches the life fade from Harry unable to stop it.

The first time he’d had that particular dream had been the only time he’d ever screamed out in his sleep. He’d been on a mission at the time and had woken to see Roxy’s worried face peering down at him. She had tried to be helpful in the only way she could, calming asking what he had been dreaming of as if talking about it could solve all of his probably, he had remained silent until she’d given up.

There was no way to explain whats haunting him, no way to put them into words.

Waking up doesn’t always make it easier.

The dark of his bedroom only seems more pressing, as if the blackness is going to swallow him up.

Sometimes he thinks he might let it.

Wouldn’t that would be easier than this?

He’ll forget how to breath, lungs struggling to catch a breath while his heart beats out a frightening rhythm against his chest.

He’s not sure what’s worse, those nights when he wakes up completely alone or the one’s where he’s not.

Usually he is included to find the ones where he wakes up to an empty room the worst.

With his fingers stretching out to the empty side of the bed, and thinking that maybe all of it wasn’t a dream after all. Shaking through sobs that nobody is around to see until he remembers the truth. It takes a while but in the end he was manages to remember, that Harry’s just a phone call away, off on some mission somewhere alive and well.  

When he’s able to breathe again he’ll make the phone call. Insist that he’s just checking in, with his voice no louder than a whisper to hide the hoarseness caused by his now quieted sobs, which would be telltale if he spoke any louder. They’ll talk about useless things – what the weather is like in Rio or if he’s remembered to do the laundry – until his heart stops the fluttering beating against his chest. With the sound of Harry’s voice in his ear, he’ll drop off to sleep again, an easier dreamless one this time.

They never talk about the real reason for his calls, but he’s pretty sure Harry knows.

There’s no way he couldn’t.

Then there are the nights when he’s not alone, which somehow manage to feel better and worse at the exact same time.

On those nights he’ll wake up gasping, his sleep shirt clinging to his skin too tightly, and try to guess if this is just another dream. He’ll wonder if the hands coming down to close over his own, the ones that wrap around his body in hopes to stop the tremors and terrors are real.

Some nights he lashes out, tries to fight against those comforting touches, while other nights he’ll melt up into them as though they are the only thing anchoring him to this life.

When his eyes begin to accept what’s in front of him, he’ll take in the worried expression, the eyebrows knit together with too many unspoken questions. He will listen to the quick reassurances spill off the other man’s lips telling him that it was just a dream or that he’s safe.

 As though those simple words could solve everything.

He wishes that they would.

There’s nothing he wishes for more, than that one night he wouldn’t have to meet Harry’s eyes, with terror running through his veins.

Unable to explain what it was that brought him into such a state more often than not, because this is one of those topics they just don’t talk about, and he’s not selfish enough to ask the questions that would put his mind at ease. The hows and whys that had have come up in his mind too many times to count.

Instead he’ll move forward, run his own hands over the every inch of Harry that he can reach. If only to make sure that he’s really there.

Some nights he won’t trust the feelings behind his fingertips.

 “Tell me that this isn’t, that you’re here, and that I’m not,” he can’t even bring himself to finish the sentence.

Luckily he never has to.

His unfinished question is heard loud and clear.

 “This is real.”

  

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ plinys


End file.
